Lucky Thirteen
by lotusgranger
Summary: One-Shot originally Written for DramioneLove Love Fest 2014. Hermione's lost everyone in the Battle of Hogwarts, but her personal war isn't over, not with a Time-Turner in her possession. Now, she faces an even greater challenge, an AU in which, rules are re-written and it is a battle against the clock to turn things right again, or is it wrong again? NOW CHAPTERED WIP. {LEMONS}
1. Lucky Thirteen

**A/N** ALSO THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO POINTED OUT MY FORMATTING GOT SCREWED UP. I lost the original document when I lost my computer and tried to transfer it over via AO3, I promise this is mine! I originally wrote it under my pseud vittoriane. Thank you to all those in the DramioneLove community and for RZZMG for hosting, mod-ing, and beta-ing the entire fest! This is my first Dramione fic, and is not posted on any other site except for the original posting for DramioneLove Love Fest 2014. I am not a FFN author. I would appreciate any con crit or comments. I love feedback! What's the point in writing if you don't get to share and discuss? I hope you enjoy my humble offering to my favorite fandom with my OTP. ;) 3 Thanks for reading! Please drop by the archive and comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own under my pseud Vittoriane at works/2228196.

Rating: Explicit

Archive Warning: Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category: F/M

Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling

Relationship: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy

Character: Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy

Additional Tags: Dubious Consent, Pregnancy Scares, Dark, Explicit Sexual Content, Time Travel, Alternate Universe, Disregards Epilogue, Canon until Battle of Hogwarts, Virginity Loss Stats:

 _ **LUCKY THIRTEEN**_

One. Two. Three turns of the Time-Turner.

Three months.

That's all it would take to change the course of the war.

Well, that and sex with The Ferret, stealing said Time-Turner, and a pregnancy.

There were potions to ensure fertility, and she could break into the Ministry with minimal issues, but it was the sex that was the problem.

How was she, Hermione Granger – virgin and bookworm, going to seduce a very unwilling Malfoy?

That turned out to be the least of her problems… .

.XX.

It came back to her in flashes: His corn-silk hair in her fingers. The imprint of his teeth on her flesh. The thrumming beat of her heart as her body felt like fire. The taste of his tongue, battling hers.

"Granger. Fuck!"

"That's what I'm trying to do!"

It was supposed to be a quick mission, in and out: have sex with Malfoy and then leave, return to the future, and win the war.

But it hadn't been that simple.

Nothing ever was with him.

"I must be losing my mind."

"No, just your body."

The first time had been in an armoire in the East Wing of Malfoy Mansion.

"Fuck. You're so tight."

He'd thrust inside her.

She'd cried out.

"Is that blood? Shit, Mudblood, you're a virgin?"

"Not anymore, Ferret. Now, fuck me!"

She had found him; he had 'discovered' her.

A guy could hardly have said 'no' to a naked Hermione rubbing his cock.

He had pushed her into the empty wardrobe, living out his dream of fucking the Head Girl in a broom closet. She hadn't complained. It had been easier to pretend he was anybody else; to pretend this was just a Hogwarts tryst instead of the future of wizard-kind.

"Come for me."

"You first."

. .XX.

The second time had been less hurried. He'd pulled her into the shower, where he could see her in the light. Draco's hands had caressed her nipples into hard peaks, sending sparks of pleasure down her body.

She'd just wanted to forget, to fall into the pleasure.

"I should turn you in. I'd be rewarded beyond compare."

"But you won't."

. .XX.

The third time had been fire and ice. She'd dominated him, before he'd fucked her hard and fast from behind, leaning over the drawing room table where Bella had tortured her several years prior.

They were no longer children playing at war games.

Before he'd come, she'd wriggled out from under him and had Immobilized him on the table. It had been just the two of them: she on a mission, he under house-arrest. She'd stood over him, panting from exertion, cheeks glowing from the bliss.

"Beg."

"Let me taste you, Granger."

She'd come so hard, she couldn't help but rest in his arms afterwards.

. .XX.

By the sixth time, she'd become pregnant. The fertility potions had tasted like sludge in her mouth, and the urgency had gone.

Yet, she hadn't been able to stop. She'd found him in the pool, and had slid her tiny hand into his trunks, stroking him to hardness. Hermione had then dipped under the water and sucked his length into her mouth. Her tongue had flicked across the head, and with a twitch, she'd tasted Draco's release.

She couldn't be sure now, but she'd thought she'd heard him moan her given name.

"This is madness."

"Or maybe, reality."

"I think, perhaps, both."

. .XX.

By the thirteenth time, he'd been a dead man walking.

She'd been traveling back in time for three months, and knew that the next day, he would be dead, gone, and her mission over.

If she'd been entirely honest with herself, that day came a long time ago—seven times ago—but somehow, she hadn't been able to stop.

That time, it had been different. Sweeter, and it had burned like a slow fire rather than an all-consuming explosion.

"Draco."

"Hermione."

Usually, she would leave right away afterwards, but something had stopped her this time.

"Don't go tonight."

She'd woken up in Draco's arms, contented, but worried.

"We're going to have a baby."

(I'm glad you're not dead).

He'd smiled.

"I know. Thirteenth time's the charm."

He'd never know just how lucky he was, how lucky they'd all been as the thread of time erased itself as they'd slept afterwards, changing the course of the war. As a result, Draco never went to the Death Eater revel, and thus never became the sacrificial pure-blood in the Immortality spell. He was the last pure-blooded male heir of the oldest line, making him indispensable.

The little girl growing inside of Hermione had disrupted the timeline, and had saved his life.

Hermione had saved his soul.

"Stay with me."

"Always."

. .XX.

Hermione watched the Time-Turner fade away into golden wisps, blowing away in her hands as the clock struck one in the afternoon.

She had never stolen it in this reality. Harry was alive. Ron was alive. Draco was alive. Voldemort was dead.

. .XX.

Little did she know, Draco had been made lucky Horcrux number thirteen.


	2. Tick Tock

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Goes the clock.

One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three.

Hermione counts the steps of the waltz in her head as she spins around Malfoy Manor's ballroom. Narcissa is insisting that the next Malfoy heiress be born in wedlock, which means a pureblood wedding. Unfortunately for a pregnant Hermione, her center of gravity has changed since her deportment lessons as a child.

One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three…oh!

The littlest Malfoy announces her presence with a well-aimed kick at her mother's ribcage. Wincing slightly, she almost misses the flash of red behind Draco's eyes as she abruptly stops, causing him to stumble.

"Alright, there, Malfoy?" she queries, looking into the stormy grey depths of his eyes, searching for any sign of red.

"Watch your step next time," he snaps.

…XXX…

Tick. Tock. Goes the clock.

She can hear the beating of his heart, preternaturally in the silence. The only movement is Cassiopeia, squirming within her, as she watches Draco from the top floor of the library, seeing him pour through books as black as his family.

The clock strikes twelve, and he finally rises from his seat, sending the books back to their gilt prison, chained behind gold lattice requiring a drop of Malfoy blood to unlock.

The clock chimes.

One. Two. Three.

He looks up at her hiding place, as quickly as a cobra, eyes searching, and narrowing, attempting to detect her presence.

Four. Five. Six.

Hermione shrinks against the bookcase, fighting the urge to renew her disillusionment charm, knowing he will detect the magic.

Seven.

Cassiopeia stirs within her, kick her mother hard in the ribs, a pain to the heart.

Eight.

Draco shakes himself, muttering, "I told you there was nothing there," seemingly to no one.

Nine. Ten.

Letting out a breath, she sighs in relief, as he exits the library with a sharp bang of the doors, setting her mind at ease.

Eleven.

CRACK.

Twelve.

Grey eyes stare at her hungrily, as strong arms envelop her from behind, a hissed _silencio_ , catching her cry of alarm.

Tick. Tock. Goes the clock.

"Now what do we have here, my sweet? A voyeur? I have no secrets from the mother of heir."

She melts at the familiar feeling of his lips caressing her neck, his erection rubbing against her bum. Seduction, so sweet, yet so dangerous is what brought them together, yet there is a niggling doubt swirling in the back of her mind. His hands slip beneath her robes, murmuring delight at the traditional silk allowing him free access to his prize.

As he slides down her body, kissing and caressing her gently, slowly, her doubts are pushed aside as his licks once against her clit.

Tick. Tock. Goes the clock.

"Draco? Hermione? Are you in here, mistress is requesting your presence at luncheon!" a house-elf's voice calls out into the library.

And then, the moment is gone, contracting upon itself, and suddenly, they are simply two eighteen-year-olds caught in a tryst.

…XXX…

Draco is not plagued again by the voice in his head for another week, allowing him time to believe it was his own curiosity that drove him to research necromantic blood magic. Then he hears it, hissing through his ears.

"Tick. Tock. Goes the clock, young Malfoy. You can only fight me so long, especially when she's starting to catch on."

A/N: Trying to expand this one-shot into something multi-chaptered. Please bear with me and read and review, my lovelies! I appreciate con-crit, and input, though flames and slut-shaming users will be banned! 3


	3. Wibbly Wobbly, Timey Wimey

Hermione always talked about how time was, "Wibbly, Wobbly, Timey-Wimey," quoting some insane show she watched on the television at her Muggle flat.

Yet, there was a grain of sense in the silly phrase, that spoke to him on a deeper level, something that niggled in the back of his head, whispering that the timeline was in flux. Some days, it felt as if someone had walked over his grave, a shiver swirling along his spine, wrapping itself around his soul and sinking into his magical core.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Draco was unable to discern whether it was his heartbeat, or the knocking inside his head.

Who was struggling for survival? Draco, or the voice inside his head?

He could feel the rhythmic kicks of Cassiopeia, now, strong enough to make her mother wince, as he stroked her belly, singing nursery rhymes to soothe her.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

"Time is not linear. Time is not finite. Time can be changed, Draco," the voice hissed in his nightmares.

Bliss so bittersweet, he felt her life drain away each time she orgasmed beneath him. As the nightmares increased, he sought refuge deep inside her, closer to the primal survival instincts to mate her, keep her, to be close to Cassie. To Hermione.

Writhing beneath him, Hermione arched into each caress, offering her body as tribute to the roar of his fear, the singing blood between them, and the magic coalescing inside their growing child.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The headboard rattled against the wall renewing the blood magic in Malfoy Manor through the continuation of the bloodline.

Hermione was the goddess incarnate, overflowing with life, playing Persephone in the underworld, spinning life as fragile as hot glass into beautiful, fragile forms. Restoring life, stealing life, and killing in her pomegranate prison, waiting for the blossoming of Spring, to escape into the world above, back into the rest of the magical world, away from the entrenched suffering pressed into the very walls.

Would the winter last longer than his resolve? Was it possible to change the timeline so irreparably, so as to banish the ability to vanquish Cassie from existence? Had the Fates begun to spin her tapestry into the fine knots of fixed events in time or was she still ether, ready to be unspun at the twist of a Time Turner, or the usurpation of life?

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Voldemort was knocking on all of their doors.

A/N: Just a short update as a bit of muse hits me.


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